Street Justice
by MsWarbird
Summary: Brittany just wants her wife to stop falling off stuff. It's dangerous. A.K.A. Santana Lopez and that one Christmas where she got drunk and up to no good with Mrs. Fabray.


T because Santana Lopez likes swearing and she can't be tamed.

**A/N:** I've had this story in my drafts since last Christmas. It's literally just been sitting there, mocking me with its lack of a title and random blank spaces until about two weeks ago when inspiration finally struck me. So here it is now, enjoy the procrastination-loving fruits of my labor.

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Glee, Mrs. Fabray would be the fun, awesome, hilarious-as-fuck parent. Sadly, she's not, so I clearly don't own Glee.

* * *

**Street Justice**

Judy Fabray is the craziest motherfucking woman Santana has ever met.

Sometimes Santana wonders why Quinn seems to have a baseball bat permanently lodged up her butt when her mother is so much fucking fun. Really, if they weren't separated by a good two decades, Santana is pretty sure she and Judy would totally be bros.

_Bros? I'm spending way too much time with that damn Guppy Face._

Anyway, Santana thinks Judy is mad cool, and frequently finds herself wishing Quinn were less like herself and more like her mom… Well, without the past alcoholism and shit husband. She kind of misses the drunk Mrs. Fabray she saw on a regular basis back when she was growing up and going over to Quinn's house when her own parents weren't home. Of course, Santana is glad Judy is now almost ten years sober because even sober Judy Fabray is still pretty damn cool in her own right.

Like just fifteen minutes ago, it was Mrs. Fabray herself—Judy, she constantly reminds Santana—that suggested they turn a friendly but mildly boring game of poker into _strip_ poker. Sam immediately looked uncomfortable and Brittany just burst out laughing from across the room, Cruz giggling happily on her lap. Brittany's parents and sister, to their credit, did a much better job of hiding their amusement, muffling their laughs behind their hands and coughing awkwardly. Santana was totally up for it, of course. She has a not-so-secret thing for blonde women. (Except for Quinn, because Quinn sucks and she's no fun. And Brittany's mom and sister… Because, duh.) Anyways, the idea seemed to be a go until all her hopes and dreams were crushed by the nasally voice of one Quinn Fabray.

"You are not taking your clothes off, mother."

That Quinn, always a dream-crusher.

So, having been stripped of the chance to ogle Judy's goodies, the group now sits in the living room by the fireplace talking amongst themselves and drinking ridiculously expensive liquor Santana picked up hours ago. She's not really sure if it's champagne or wine or whiskey, hell , it could even be orange juice. At this point, she doesn't really care. Not when she can see Brittany sitting on the couch next to her sister talking animatedly, shooting Santana subtle looks every once in a while._ Seductive_ looks, of the sexual-frustration-inducing variety.

Yeah, _those_. Her wife is such a tease sometimes.

Santana gulps and wisely forces herself to look away, once again focusing her attention on her kids. The three of them sit on the floor next to Sam and his twin boys, a myriad of coloring books, paper, and crayons thrown all around them. Santana has to keep looking at Cruz, since the little boy sometimes forgets what exactly crayons are for and starts to try and eat them every two minutes.

Next to her, Alba continues to scribble furiously on her piece of paper, frantically grabbing around her for different colors and covering her paper from her mother's eyes with her tiny arms. From the smirk on her daughter's face, Santana can already tell that she's probably drawing something bad. Something Brittany would probably disapprove of and then elbow Santana into disapproving of. Meaning, her daughter is probably drawing something fucking hilarious and inappropriate.

Santana knows that she can't rush her, though. Alba is misunderstood like fucking crazy, but secretly filled with unusual wisdom and perception. So she just has to wait until Alba's finished her masterpiece. Meanwhile, she continues snatching drool-covered crayons from her son, sneaking peeks at her wife's glorious legs, and coloring in her very poorly-drawn version of Tina Cohen-Chang, holding a stethoscope and a picture of ridiculously-defined abs.

She chuckles lightly. Sometimes, Santana is so damn funny she doesn't know what to do with herself.

"That's a great horse, Tony!" Sam pipes up next to her, grinning over his son's shoulder.

The little boy sighs, frustrated. "No dad, that's a car!"

"Oh…" Sam turns his head and raises an eyebrow in confusion. "Yeah, I knew that."

"Nice going, Lady Lips." Santana teases while smirking at him. "Even _I_ knew that."

Sam frowns at her and turns to his other son. "And Steve, that's a nice… Uh… Green blob?"

"Thanks, dad!"

Apparently pleased with himself, Sam turns to her, eyes wide and sporting a lopsided grin on his face. "They get their drawing skills from Quinn, I promise," he whispers to her.

Santana looks down at his own paper, four blond-haired stick figures with matching smiles and some weird-looking trees in the background. She looks at him. "I highly doubt that."

"Ma, I'm done! You can look now!" Alba pulls on her hand, smile in place and waving her drawing in the air towards her face.

"You sure?" Santana smiles, turning her body to give her daughter her complete attention and reaching for the paper. "All right then, let's see."

And Santana is, of course, anything but disappointed. Her darling daughter has drawn her precious Uncle Trouty, complete with an alarmingly blank look on his face, small chapstick containers raining down on him, and a gigantic pair of lips protruding from his smaller-than-average head. Next to him is Puck (not Uncle, Alba never calls him Uncle), with a dead skunk on his head (literally). Between them, what looks like handcuffs connects their wrists. What surprises her the most, however, is the glittery background.

"Are they in space?"

Alba nods, smile on her face.

"Why are Puck and Sam in space, sweetheart?"

"Because that one time you promised to _kick them into orbit_ if they didn't stop flirting with each other."

Santana snorts. "Is that why they're handcuffed?"

"Mhmm," she nods aggressively. "I didn't think Puck would want to wear a ring like you and Mom, so I just handcuffed them."

"Can I keep this, baby?"

"Yeah, I drew it for you. So you could finally have your wish of them being far, far away from you!"

Her daughter is too smart for her own good. Even if she doesn't consciously know that drifting in space would suffocate the two men, Santana appreciates the unintentional message, regardless.

_Finally getting rid of stupid Sam and Puck._

Santana wipes her eye and pulls her daughter's head to her chest, kissing her blonde head. "I love it. Thank you, my little genius."

* * *

An hour later and the family has gathered in the impressive Pierce-Lopez dining hall, getting ready to eat a meal cooked by Santana... Which is a lie. She ordered the fancy meal from a catering service after burning two turkeys and almost setting the stove on fire.

_But no one needs to know that._

As she looks around, her foggy mind questions her surroundings. The alcohol is kicking in, and smacks Santana with the realization that sometimes she feels completely out of place around her family and other people she considers her family.

Other than her sweet, brown-haired little boy, she's completely surrounded by blinding heads of hair. Brittany's blonde, Alba's blonde, Brittany's parents and sister are all super blond, Quinn's blonde, Quinn's mom is blonde, Sam's blond, Quinn and Sam's twins are ridiculously blond. _Fuck_, even Sam's stupid golden retriever is technically blond.

Santana sighs, she kind of wishes Puck or Tina were here… Then she instantly regrets that thought and mentally punches herself in the face.

_Ew, Puck and Tina. No._

She's clearly not that desperate.

Anyway, Santana's in one of _those_ moods. The ones where she squints around the room and overanalyzes everything while constantly being distracted by flashing thoughts of boobs and high heels.

…too much to drink, maybe?

She's feeling fucking great, in other words. Too great, really. So great that she's completely able to drown out Quinn's annoying-ass voice and instead focus entirely on the aesthetic perfection that is Brittany S. Pierce-Lopez.

Like, damn. Her wife is so fucking pretty. So, so pretty. Delightful. Glorious. Angelical. She should win some motherfucking trophies just for walking into a room. Or for existing, even.

Santana is seriously considering having that life-sized, gold statue of Brittany made. She'd build a pedestal and put it in the middle of her driveway. Just so her neighbors can die of jealousy.

_Santana narrows her eyes and smirks while she looks off into space. Yeah bitches, I'm tapping that._

Suddenly, she gets the mental image of her next-door neighbor, Travis, and his Botox-filled wife, Karen, crying tears of blood while watching her passionately making out with Brittany on their front lawn underneath a gigantic, shining gold statue of Brittany in a bikini, all while Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On" is blasting in the background and hundred dollar bills are raining down on them from the heavens.

Drunk Santana really has the best fantasies.

She's so caught up in her daydream—now Brittany has a purple, diamond-encrusted pimp cane and they're both wearing _massive_ bling—that she almost misses the soft taps on her ankle. She shakes her head and looks to her right where Brittany is sitting next to her at the table and looking at her with a questioning tilt of her head.

"You okay, baby?"

Santana blinks the haze out of her mind before she smiles back. "I'm great," she slurs, then slumps down a bit in her seat, smiling like a total fool. "I'm feeling _great_."

Brittany furrows her eyebrows and smirks at her. "You're definitely getting drunk." She laughs and pats Santana's hand affectionately. "Enjoy your night, honey. Next time it's my turn."

"Oh, I'm enjoying it plenty, trust me." The dopey grin on her face grows even larger. "So glad we made this deal."

Her wife smiles warmly and leans over to peck her cheek. "Well, _one of us_ has to be the responsible adult. Right, Mrs. Pierce-Lopez?"

"Of _course_, Mrs. Pierce-Lopez."

The whole trading-off thing was, of course, Brittany's idea (just like almost all other brilliant ideas in their marriage). Drinking was fun, they both knew that, but their kids were the most important thing in their lives, so a compromise had to be made. Now, every time they went to family gatherings (even if those gatherings happened to take place in their own home) only one of them would drink and the other would be left to look after the kids, and _each other_, if that were ever necessary.

"You, gorgeous lady," Santana lightly pokes the tip of Brittany's nose. "Have the _best _ideas." She shifts a little in her seat, jerking clumsily to move closer to Brittany. "I'm gonna show you how much I _appreciate_ all your good ideas later tonight."

Brittany chuckles. "Yeah?" She holds Santana's waist to keep her steady on the chair. "And how exactly do you plan to do that, lady-killer? You can't even sit up straight."

"Don't need to sit, baby." Santana pecks the side of Brittany's mouth and moves back into her chair, wiggling her eyebrows. "All the magic happens laying down."

Santana gives Brittany the most seductive look she can muster while drunk, and beams brightly when a smiling Brittany snorts and shakes her head, turning her attention to Alba sitting at her other side.

"So how's the gym going, Santana?" Brittany's mother, Amelia, asks from across the table.

Her mother-in-law's voice instantly sobers Santana up. She sits up straight in her chair and clears her throat, not wanting Brittany's parents to think she's an alcoholic slob or anything like that.

"It's going great, lots of business ever since that monthly 'Family Day' thing."

Robert Pierce laughs deeply next to his wife, looking at Santana knowingly and lifting his eyebrows. "Just not the kind of customers you'd want, right?"

Santana smiles and looks at her wife. "Not our usual target customers, no."

Brittany rolls her eyes and looks at her father. "It's not like she deals with any of the new sign-ups anyways." She nods toward the blonde man sitting across from her making ridiculous airplane noises at his son. "She makes Sam handle them."

"Handle who?" He looks up, confused at the mention of his name.

"They're all looking for cheerleaders and group events and motivation," Santana says, ignoring Sam's question and looking mildly disgusted at the memory of all the new customers at her gym looking for fun workouts and positive reinforcement. "That's not what I specialize in."

"No, you specialize in yelling at people." Hannah, Brittany's sister, throws in.

"Exactly." Santana smiles and nods her head at the younger woman. "See? You get it. Now tell that to your sister."

"Not everyone likes crying while they're running on treadmills, Santana."

"Yeah, Britt's right. The new customers are great! They're just looking for someone to help them out, you know?" Sam responds, clueless grin in place. "Like we have this new regular, her name's Andrea, she's a recent divorcée. Remember I told you about her, Quinn?"

"All you told me is that she wanted _private lessons_ after work hours." Quinn rolls her eyes.

"Well, yeah, but not like that." Sam frowns, looking at Brittany's parents and trying to explain. "She's a photographer. She was telling me about how it'd be good for her to be able to shoot some photos of her training and working out to help motivate her in the future. She said her cameras back at her house were much better for action shots and stuff."

"Why doesn't she just bring them to the gym with her?" Judy asks, confused.

"She said she can't because they're bolted down to the frames. She's a professional."

Santana snorts, looking at Quinn who is awkwardly shifting in her seat.

"Sam? Make someone else train her, okay?"

"What? Why? Andrea always asks for me specifically."

Quinn sighs and looks at Santana. "Can you deal with this?"

Santana laughs and nods at her friend. "Yeah, don't worry. I'll have Helga cover her appointments."

"Oh, is that the ex Russian wrestler you were telling me about?" Hanna asks excitedly.

"Yep, Helga the Exterminator. Six feet, five inches of pure muscle and horror. She and Andrea will get along just fine, I think."

"Just make sure she doesn't end up at the hospital. Okay, honey?"

"Sure thing, baby." Santana takes Brittany's hand and kisses it softly.

"Blegh." Hannah makes gagging noises. "Not in front of the children, come on."

"Oh, sorry, sis. We'll make sure to cover your eyes next time, okay?"

Santana laughs at her sister-in-law and looks back at her plate, her foggy mind making her deliriously happy for some reason.

Well, regardless of hair color, her family is pretty damn cool.

* * *

"Britt. Britt-Britt..." Santana leans heavily on her wife and whispers (more like yells) into her ear. "Brittany."

"What is it? I'm not refilling your glass anymore, San, don't even ask."

"Nooo, not that. The lights, let's go take them."

"What?" Brittany turns to look at Santana on their shared loveseat. "What are you talking about?"

Santana nods her head in the direction of their backyard. "The stupid Lamer-sons. Let's go take down their lights."

"Honey, why would we do that?"

"Because," Santana whines, her breath reeking of alcohol and her eyes squinting. She readjusts her sweater and looks at Brittany angrily. "They tried to outdo us, baby. Fucking Travis and his stupid decorations. Let's go show 'em."

"It's Christmas, they probably want a decorated house, San. We can't just go over there and take down all their lights." Brittany snorts. "How would we even take them down? They're not even home; how do we get on their roof?"

"That's even better!" Santana perks up, her jerky movements causing her to loser her balance and almost fall off the side of the couch. "We can just break in, no sweat!"

Brittany stares at her wife, trying to read her. She knows Santana is more than capable of going over to their neighbor's home and breaking in like it's not a big deal. A sober Santana would know not to do it, but a drunk Santana? A drunk Santana who is constantly fighting with Travis Jefferson over fallen leaves, loud noises, skid marks, and—most recently—the title of best-decorated home in their community? Well, Brittany isn't sure, really.

"Santana, we're not breaking into their house."

"But, Brittany!" Santana pouts. In her less-than-sober state it looks more pitiful than ever. "Britt, they destroyed our Santa, remember that? He said it was an accident, but oh no, I know better!" She points to herself triumphantly. "He did it because he's jealous."

"Santana he wasn't jealous." Brittany rolls her eyes and moves to capture Santana's hands, keeping her from jerking around so much. "He backed up into it, and he even offered to pay for it. That doesn't mean we should destroy his Christmas, okay?"

Santana sulks, taking her hands back and crossing her arms. "But he's a jerk," she argues back.

"Still doesn't justify breaking into his house, honey."

"Then we just climb to the roof?"

"No."

"Ugh."

"Santana don't be mad. It's just a bad idea, okay? You'd regret it tomorrow, anyways. Trust me, they're not worth all the trouble. Just forget about it."

"Fine," Santana turns to Brittany and leans into her once again, defeated. "I guess I can try. Although I don't think I can just _forget_ about how upset the kids were over the deflated Santa, though. Not gonna happen." She sniffles.

"What are you talking about? You told me the kids hadn't been home. You told me Tina had taken them to the aquarium."

Santana looks at Brittany, a guilty frown on her face. "I kind of lied?"

"What?"

"Well, they just looked so sad," she sighs. "I didn't want you to get upset, too, you know? Alba went to look out the window when that fucktard destroyed blow-up Santa and she ran out the front door. I had Cruz in my arms and followed after her. And, you know..."

"They _did_ really like that inflatable Santa."

"They did! And they looked so fucking devastated that _I_ took them to the aquarium to try and cheer them up." Santana looks up at her wife with a sheepish pout. She notices Brittany's frown and scrunched eyebrows and slumps in defeat. "I'm sorry? I just didn't want you to get _that_ look on your face."

Brittany sits quietly for a while, still holding on to Santana and looking out the patio door. "Okay, let's go take down their lights."

"What?" Santana jumps up and stares at her wife, wide-eyed. "Really?"

"Yeah. We'll climb, come on."

"I really love you, you know that, right?"

"Never doubted it. Love you, too." Brittany gives Santana a quick kiss. "Let's go ruin their Christmas."

* * *

"So did you have a plan in mind?"

"Of course!" Santana calls out as she rolls off the top of the fence and onto her neighbors' garden bushes. "It's a good thing I knew this was here," she slurs.

"You okay?" Brittany asks from their side of the fence. She expertly jumps to get a hold of the top and pulls herself up and over, landing cleanly on her two feet and holding a hand out for her wife. "Not a rose bush, right?"

"Nah, no thorns." Santana accepts the offered hand. "I'm good."

"Okay, so about the getting to the roof part?"

"Right! So you see that window over there? That's a good place to get onto the second level." She points to the side of the house. "From there we can make our way to the back porch, we can climb that stupid, out-of-place, Greek column they're so proud of and make it to the roof."

"You sure you can pull this off, Santana? You're not exactly at your best right now."

"Hey, now. I got this, Britt." Santana cracks her knuckles and makes her way over to the mentioned window. "Just gotta sober up a bit and—"

"Can I come, too?"

Brittany turns around, startled. "Judy!" She brings a hand up to her chest. "I thought the Jeffersons were back early. What are you doing here?"

"I overheard you guys were about to destroy someone's Christmas?" She smirks.

"Oh, were we that loud? Sorry about that, Santana just wanted to—"

"No no, dear." Judy shakes her head and smiles, moving towards the apologetic Brittany. "I'm sure you have a perfectly good reason. I was just wondering if I could join you."

"Argh!" Santana yells behind them as she falls flat on her back. "Don't trust the windowsill, I think there's ice on it."

Brittany rushes to her side, grabbing her head and automatically checking for some serious, nonexistent injury. "Did you slip?"

"Think so..." Santana groans and grabs her side. "Might wanna reconsider the plan, though."

"Why not just use the ladder?" Judy asks.

"What ladder?"

"The one over there." Judy points toward the side of the back shed where, sure enough, there's a ladder .

Brittany turns back to look at Santana, a mocking glare her only expression.

"You asked me for a plan, okay?" Santana holds up her hands. "I gave you a plan. I never said it was the _best_ plan."

"You're lucky I think you're cute." Brittany snorts and helps Santana up, brushing some fallen branches off her back.

"How'd you even get here, Mrs. Fabray?"

"Judy, call me Judy." She looks at Santana in disbelief. "And please, you were my trainer for how long? Six months? If I wasn't able to climb a fence I'm sure my experience would've been a lot more painful, right?

Santana blushes at her smirking expression. "Ah, well then. Glad that worked out."

"I'm sure you do, dear. Now here," Judy places the ladder on the side of the house and leaves it up to Santana to settle it into place. "Why don't you fill me in?"

"We're gonna get up to their roof, and take down those stupid decorations. They have a snowman, a couple of reindeers, and a Santa." Santana stops on her way up the ladder suddenly and turns to look at Judy directly. "That Santa is mine, by the way."

"Our neighbor backed his car into _our_ Santa and made the kids upset. We're kind of just getting them back for that." Brittany starts following after Santana. "Other than that, just disconnect all the Christmas lights you can see."

"Oh, I see. So this is for justice?" Judy chuckles. "Sounds good to me, then."

"Not justice," Santana reaches the second level and extends her hands to help the other two women make it up the ladder. "Street justice. This is how we did it the LHA, Judy."

Brittany rolls her eyes and mumbles something under her breath.

"LHA?"

"She means Lima Heights Adjacent," Brittany responds. "...Even though she's the only one who knows of that abbreviation, apparently."

"Was it really so bad in the... LHA, Santana? I understand your father is a successful doctor, right?"

"Successful and stubborn, yeah." Santana snorts and begins making her way to the back porch. "Both he and my mother grew up in the area and refused to leave. _Sticking to his roots_, he called it. The neighborhood wasn't the nicest, and he could definitely afford a better place, but I think he had a second family around there somewhere and just didn't wanna go too far from them. Not sure, though."

"He did? What is it with these men and their _questionable_ loyalties?" Judy raises an eyebrow and huffs. "I swear, if that Evans boy turns out to hurt my Quinnie, I'll... I'll _crush_ him."

"I'll help!"

"No you won't, Santana." Brittany watches as Santana begins climbing the column up to the roof. "Judy I'm sure that won't be necessary, Sam's not a bad guy."

"Well, no. That's what she keeps telling me," Judy hesitates. "Although I am glad to have your support, Santana."

"No problem! I get the urge to kill Sam on a daily basis."

"Just an urge, Santana. You control those, remember?" Brittany frowns. "Don't kill Sam."

"I haven't so far! That's something, right?" Santana jokes, finally making it up to the roof and getting a good look at her area of destruction. "Oh man, the Lamer-sons are gonna love this."

"No property damage! Just take down their stuff!"

"I know, I know," Santana replies as she pulls Brittany up. "Judy, you need a hand?"

"No, I'm sure I can handle this." Judy stretches and prepares herself, looking up at the column in challenge. "I've come this far, already. You guys go ahead and get started, I'll be up there soon."

"Alright then," Brittany turns to her wife. "I'm assuming you wanna start with Santa?"

"Yep, leave that to me. You?"

"I'll take down the lights. Be careful, Santana."

"Please, I'm the _queen_ of careful!" Santana yelps as she steps on a piece of ice and loses her balance, quickly holding her arms out to regain her footing. "Lightning quick reflexes, see?"

Brittany sighs and closes her eyes in frustration. "If you fall, Santana... If you fall!"

"Not gonna happen, relax!"

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the Santa inflatable lays crumpled on the roof, a giant hole on its forehead and its lights shut off. Near it, a snowman and most of Santa's reindeers lay in similar fashion but without damage.

Santana struggles with a clump of Christmas lights in her arms, following them around the chimney and getting them tied around her feet. "Aw shit."

"Is this all that's left?" Brittany questions, taking down another strand of lights from the edge of the roof.

"I think we got it all, dear," Judy moves onto another reindeer. "I have to say, this has been an adrenaline rush from start to finish. Reminds me of my old days..."

"Don't tell me you were some kind of daredevil, Judy."

"Well, Santana," Judy turns to look at her with a smirk on her face. "You remember all the trouble you three used to get into when you were still kids?" She snorts. "Where do you think Quinn got it from?"

Brittany laughs. "I remember she and Santana used to taunt each other into doing even worse things." Brittany walks over to her wife, who still struggles with the cord of lights, and grabs her to help keep her balance. "Remember that time we broke into the shopping mall after hours, San?"

"Oh yeah, Quinn bet I couldn't get into the security office."

Judy smiles fondly. "I remember that phone call. Russell was _not_ pleased. And Quinn was so proud of herself that I couldn't find it in me to actually follow through with her grounding. Did you know she—"

"Mom, what are you doing!?" Quinn yells from the Pierce-Lopez backyard, across the neighbor's fence. "Lopez, what the hell? Get my mother down from there!"

"Oh, Quinnie, relax! It's…" Judy turns to question Santana. "What did you call it again, dear?"

"Street justice…" Santana mumbles back, struggling to free herself from the tangled Christmas lights.

"That's right, street justice! We're taking back the neighborhood!"

"What are you... Get down from there right now, mother!"

"She's fine, Quinn. We're taking care of the edges of the roof, she's okay."

"Brittany!? What are _you_ doing up there?"

Brittany shrugs, keeping a strong hold on Santana's waist. "I promised San she could drink tonight, remember? That means I have to keep an eye on her."

"You could have done that by not letting her get up there in the first place!"

"Where's the fun in that?" Brittany asks, truly perplexed as she brushes off a clump of snow from Santana's head. "Besides, it's against our rules. Remember last year when Santana followed me into the middle of a drag show? You're supposed to go _along_ with the drunk, not hold them back."

"Yeah, Quinneth, cool your tits."

"Do not tell me to cool off, Lopez, or I will get up there kick you _off_."

Santana straightens up as best she can while still trapped in the mess of Christmas lights. "You're gonna get up here? Alright, I'd like to see you try."

"Is that... Are you challenging me?"

"I thought that was pretty obvious, yeah."

"Don't you fucking smirk at me. I will get up there and slap that look off your face."

"Okay, sure. Get up here, though." Santana smiles with a crooked grin, her eyes shining mischievously. "Come on, Tubbers."

"Santana, baby, maybe it's time to stop talking?"

"You did not just fucking—"

"Everything okay out here?" Sam pokes his head out the patio door, Santa hat on his head and a blond little boy under each arm.

"Samuel!" Quinn turns to him, rage in her eyes. "Put down the twins and help me get over this fence. Now!"

"Can't even get over it yourself? That's fucking shameful, Fabray." Santana shakes in laughter and almost slips on the icy roof, Brittany's strong grip the only thing keeping her upright. "You used to be head cheerleader, what happened?"

"Really, Quinnie, you should be able to get up here yourself." Judy looks mildly surprised at her daughter, and frowns in disapproval. "I left the ladder down there, you can use that."

"Why are you guys up there?"

"We're just messing with our neighbors, Sam." Brittany responds calmly, hoping to keep the situation under control. "You guys don't have to get up here."

"Oh, well do you guys want me to bring you some hot chocolate?" He shivers and holds the twins closer, both looking up at their father at the mention of hot chocolate. "Your mom just finished making some, Britt. It's cold out here."

"That's okay Sam, thanks. We're about done up here."

"Yeah, as soon as Quinn drags her butt up here."

"Do not tempt me, Lopez." Quinn turns around at the sound of the closing patio door and catches sight of Sam's retreating back. "Samuel get back here!"

"Guess you gotta do it on your own now, huh?"

"Quinnie, don't overwork yourself, honey. We're going back soon." Judy continues to move around the roof, disconnecting the rest of Santa's reindeers. "Go get yourself something warm."

Santana continues shaking with laughter, pointing at Quinn and breaking into new fits of giggles. "Oh fuck, Fabray. Are you that out of shape?" She cackles and jerks her tangled arms around. "Hey, hey, you want me to train you?"

"Shut up, Santana."

"No, really. I care about you. I'll help you out, you know?" Santana moves out of Brittany's grasp and closer to the edge of the roof to look at Quinn. "Come on, what's a little help between friends, huh? I'm sure you'll be a good sport about it, right?"

"I'll show you, Lopez." Quinn starts heading toward the fence, already coming up with the best way to get over it in a graceful manner.

"You're coming up here, finally!" Santana starts heading closer to the ladder, looking at the struggling Quinn expectantly. "Come on, Quinnie!"

"You really don't have to do this, honey," Judy attempts to calm her daughter. "Santana is just joking, please don't hurt yourself."

"Santana, don't get too close to that edge, come on." Brittany starts moving toward Santana, worried about how close her still-kinda-drunk wife is getting to the edge of the roof. "Baby, be careful, you might fall."

"I'm not gonna fall, Britt, relax." Santana turns around to look at her wife with a satisfied, lopsided smile. She struggles to move her legs along with her upper body as she tries to stand up straight. "Really, I'll be just—"

And then Santana feels her entire Christmas dinner suddenly levitate in her stomach as she accidentally steps on the strand of cord from the Christmas lights and they tangle tighter around her legs, throwing her off balance and off the roof, entirely.

"Fuck!" "Santana!"

Brittany springs into action as she sees her wife topple over the side of the roof. She runs after her, careful to avoid the patches of ice on her path but is too late, and hears as Santana lands on the roof on the first floor... then rolls off.

"Oh, no. San, hold on to something!"

"Shit," Santana extends her arms out in vain, constricted by the tangles and failing to grab anything as she rolls off side and lands on the grass below. "Aw, fuck!"

"Santana!" Quinn clumsily makes it over the fence (finally) and lands on her hands and knees, quickly making her way over to the fallen woman.

"Quinnie, is she okay?"

Quinn rolls Santana face up. "Santana!?" She slaps her once she sees her eyes are closed. "Don't tell me you're dead, come on!"

"Baby!?" In a flash, Brittany appears by her side, grabbing Santana's face lightly. "San, wake up!"

"That fucking..." Brown eyes open slowly, and the world comes back into focus... so does the alcohol. "Oh, no."

Santana sits up quickly with a grunt and shuffles closer to the bushes near her, emptying her stomach. Quinn moves away in disgust, while Brittany winces and grabs Santana to help her maintain her position.

"Is she hurt?" Judy asks as she makes it to Quinn's side, helping her daughter stand and looking concerned at the two women near the bushes. "That was a nasty fall."

"Santana, honey, you alright?" Brittany wipes Santana's hair away from her face.

"I just wasted my dinner..." Santana stumbles back into Brittany's arms and flinches away. "Also, ow."

"San, you're bleeding." Brittany turns Santana's body and examines her face, noticing the small cut above her left eye and the red bump on the side of her face. She looks over the cut, satisfied that it's not deep, she checks over the rest of Santana's body. "Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere," Santana whines.

Brittany frowns. "_Specifically_, where?"

"My right side." Santana shuffles awkwardly to test out her movements. "Nothing's broken though."

"You sure?" Brittany carefully moves the layers of clothes and sees a bruise starting to form on Santana's ribcage. "Can you breathe okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Britt, can we go back home now?"

"As long as you promise not to fall off anything, anymore." Brittany hugs her wife closer and presses a kiss against the top of her head. "You just gave me a mild heart attack."

"Thought you were gone for a second there, Lopez. Don't do that."

"Are you sure you're alright, Santana? Maybe you should call that doctor friend of yours? What was her name?" Judy pauses, searching for the name. She looks to Quinn, who smirks back at her then at Santana.

"Yeah, Santana. Wanna call Tina? I'm sure she'd love to hear about how _incredibly_ resistant your head is."

"Shut up, Fabray. And no, we're not calling Tina. Ever." Santana responds automatically. She winces slightly as Brittany slowly helps her to her feet, keeping a tight hold of her wife's arm as she struggles to move around. "Hey, look who finally made it over the fence."

"I thought you were dead." Quinn deadpans.

"Then you hobbled over here for me?" Santana smiles sarcastically. "I'm an even better trainer than I thought I was!"

Quinn rolls her eyes and leads the way out of the neighbor's backyard. "Shut up, you moron."

Santana smirks. Even with a throbbing pain on her side, a foul taste in her mouth, and an incoming headache, she can appreciate a gift from the universe when she sees one.

_Pissing off Quinn Fabray? Among the top five Christmas presents this year, indeed._

* * *

"Brittany dear, it was a pleasure as always."

"Thanks for coming, Judy." Brittany responds as she leads the older Fabray to the front door, supporting Santana's weight on her right side as she drags her sleepy, drunk, and injured wife along with her. "It was great having you. You should come visit more often."

"Oh, I'd love to. Quinnie is way too busy for me, nowadays. I might just come visit you and Santana if she can't have me for the holidays."

"That'd be great, sure. My parents love your company as well."

"Well I'm very glad for that, too." Judy moves forward to hug Brittany tightly. "Tell them good night for me, will you? And to have a safe flight back home."

"I will, don't worry. Are you sure you don't want to sleep over? We do have an empty guest room upstairs if you'd like."

"No, that's quite all right, dear. I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome." Judy smiles, now turning to look at Santana. "And Santana, it was great getting to spend more time with you, as well."

"Yeah, Judy," Santana looks up and smirks crookedly. "Come back soon. Next time we'll set their house on fire."

The older woman laughs, looking at Brittany knowingly. "I'm sure we will, dear. Take care not to fall off anything, okay? Remember to ice."

"For sure. Not going on roofs anytime soon." Santana extends her fist. "Let's pound on it."

Judy smiles, bumping fists. "I'll see you guys soon." She beams back at the couple one more time before turning to leave, a satisfied expression on her face.

"Later, Judy!" Santana calls after her. "Call me up if you wanna go smash some more decorations with me sometime!"

She waves back at the women as she gets in her waiting cab. As the car takes off into the snowy December night, Santana swears she hears her voice call back at them one more time.

"Keep it real!"

Judy Fabray is the fucking queen of cool.

* * *

**A/N:** I fell off a roof two weeks ago putting up Christmas lights. That was my inspiration. It was terrible but I didn't break anything, so I made Santana go through that too because I'm a horrible person.

Thanks for reading, and happy holidays!


End file.
